In front of the Fireplace
by KeepCalmFanFicExists
Summary: Receiving a new pet is a big responsibility, and so is moving into a new home. Four one-shots with Bellatrix and Voldemort going though each experience are presented here. Current: Young Tom Riddle is having the most terrible day when a huge green snake pays him a visit. Her idea of fun includes a cave and two orphans. Her name? Nagini...
1. Mephistopheles

_Written for the Monthly Challenge of the Plot Bunnies Forum. The given prompts were write about someone getting a pet or a new house. I couldn't choose, so I'll be writing all four combos for Bellatrix and Voldemort. _

_In this chapter, Rodolphus thinks that the best wedding gift to his wife is a sick, vicious little fur-ball._

"Well, open it," Rodolphus encouraged his wife.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange had gotten married just a week ago in a fabulous ceremony with important guests from all over the world. His beautiful, hot-tempered and very active wife had been stuck since then at home, inviting over family members and close friends, so they could admire how dreamy their marriage was. All those social interactions and her mother's constant criticism and endless interventions had been driving Bellatrix up the wall.

It was the first time they had some peace and quiet this afternoon and Bellatrix had been walking the library up and down in front of him muttering stuff about 'insufferable people' and 'mindless chatter' more to herself than him. When his ears caught something about setting the bloody curtains of their bedroom on fire, he had decided right there and then that it was time to give her the wedding gift he had gotten her and had summoned a battered, pink hat box that had holes poked with a sharp instrument on the cover. It was shaking violently every other second, as if it contained a trapped animal; which apparently it did.

Bellatrix' dark eyes had become slits when she had spotted how old and worn the box was and hadn't even bothered to take it from his hands.

"You know wedding gifts customary come in fancier boxes, right?" Bellatrix said sharply. She had never been one to phrase her thoughts pretty, and the fact that she was Dark-Lord deprived that week had drained the little patience she had.

"You were the one who said this marriage is not going to be traditional," Rodolphus reminded her pleasantly. "Can't I break tradition too? Trust me, you want to open the box."

Bellatrix shot daggers at him, but he continued to smile broadly, so, mouthing a swear, she took the hat box, holding it with nothing more than her long fingernails, as if it contained something diseased.

She removed the cover slowly and a cry of pain escaped her lips. Bella retrieved her hand to find a small but prominent cut running through her palm, droplets of blood spreading on her cuff.

"What the-" she began.

In the bottom of the box, a tiny, emaciated animal sat with its fur sticking up, filthy and sick. Its paw was still in the air; it was ready to strike again.

"A rodent?" hissed Bellatrix dangerously, eyes gleaming deadly. "You got me a _rat_ to seal our marriage? Are you completely out of your mind, Lestrange?"

"It's a kitten, Bella," Rodolphus corrected his wife, unfazed by the verbal attack. "He kind of reminded me of you."

Bellatrix blinked and her fury seemed to leave her speechless for a whole minute. Her beauty, though not of particular value to her, had been a favourite subject of all kinds of newspapers and magazines since before she had been able to talk. To suggest that this poor, diseased, pathetic excuse for a cat looked anything like the daughter of one of the most influential families in the wizarding world was somewhere between insulting and barking mad.

"Wait, before you explode, let me explain," Rodolphus hurried on, because the delicate pink colouring his wife's pale cheeks was synonymous to an omen of his painful death. "The last couple of days I was finding small animals dead in the gardens. Rabbits, birds, ferrets, that kind of thing. They all had their necks broken and the skin and fur had been torn in places, like something had tried to eat them, but hadn't managed in the end. And then, last night, my hunting dogs started making noise and there it was, surrounded by three of them, trying to fight them back. That little guy killed all those animals and injured Rex, my best hunting dog, and it's sick and not even four months old. See?" he pointed at the kitten's jaw where a few baby-teeth were visible.

"And when I tried to pick it up, it did the same it did to you. I was going to put it down, but then its temper reminded me of you, and how could I possibly do that? Thought you'd appreciate his company in the days to come, especially since you have put an... ehm, ban in having children. Look, I can't guarantee you won't have another week like this one from now on, but this stubborn little fur-ball can make it a bit easier for you. You know, while you eat salmon sandwiches and prepare for the next ball, you'll have the chance to chat with it about your shared interests, like what's the best way to keep someone alive while taking their guts out and stuff..."

A mischievous smirk illuminated his handsome face, but soon faded, for he noticed Bellatrix' expression. She was scanning the kitten as if estimating where it would hurt the most.

"On the other hand," he muttered, "I have a magnificent diadem for you, it has a large sapphire on top, it matches your eyes exactly, you are going to look so-"

"Oh, you can keep your stupid trinket," she brushed him off, before picking up the sick, bad-tempered kitten from the neck. It tried to smack her again, but failed and eyed her grumpily, tail in the air, front paws crossed in front of it in an almost human manner. "Mephistopheles and I have a lot to talk about, don't we, my sweet?"

And she left the library without looking back, Mephistopheles still hanging from her fingertips importantly.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. _

_Mephistopheles is a demon featured in the classic German legend of Faust, where an accomplished scholar, Faust, is unhappy with his life, so he sells his soul to the devil in exchange for limitless knowledge and pleasure. _


	2. Black Schwarzwald

_In this chapter Bellatrix has chosen a crumbled castle somewhere in the Black Forest, Germany, as a potential Headquarters for the Death Eaters. Has she finally gone insane?_

"Nice, isnt it?" Bellatrix smiled nervously at the Dark Lord.

The two of them were standing in front of the rusty, wrought-iron gate of what seemed to be a very ancient castle. It was relatively small, built in the classic style of a rectangle with a tower at every angle. The whole north side was prerty much collapsed, the castle literally spilling its guts to the valley, and eagles and falcons were using the remaining high towers as luxury nests, occasionally flying in and out, bringing game to their young. Surely, the abandoned gardens outside were home to various small animals too, like in any real forest.

Lord Voldemort didn't exactly pull a face, but it was close enough.

''Nice would not be the word I would choose, but get to the point. I presume you have a reason for interrupting my very important work to bring me here.''

''Aha...'' Bella laughed awkwardly. ''Well, my Lord, the thing is, I asked you to come here so we could both admire the place I just bought us,'' she stated as lightly as possible.

''Excuse me?'' hissed Voldemort. ''What exactly did you say you did?''

''Not as a permanent place, obviously,'' Bellatrix hurried on, ''just in case we need a more secluded residence for a while, to be alone and everything...''

''There are hotels for that, Bella, or just one of the dozens of the chateaux, chalets and castles you own, why do we need this wreck, especially when it's located all the way south to _Germany?_''

He was looking at her as if he were worried about her sanity; which he should be doing anyway.

''I didn't mean that kind of seclusion, my Lord,'' Bellatrix went a little pink. ''I mean, you know, like...'' she had trouble finding her words, ''if our Headquarters become temporarily erm... unusable, we can always have this one as a backup. Nobody knows it belongs to me except Rodolphus, I haven't even told Cissy. Not like this, of course, we'll do extensive renovations and surely villagers will be able to take care of the gardens. It's a beautiful place with the river, and very quiet and shadowy, you're going to like it a lot, I'm sure. We will personally add protective enchatments and it will be a modern fortress, only old,'' she sniggered over the pun to cover up her fear, for Voldemort's face was taking a darker and darker shade.

''And why would our Headquarters become unusable?'' he said in a dangerous hiss, for he realised what his young and most faithful lieutenant was implying. 'Speak clearly, Bella,you never have trouble being blunt.''

"I am not suggesting that anything is going to happen, my Lord, nor do I doubt your plans and their efficiency, I just thought it would be a good idea to be a hundred percent covered. Forgive me, master, but I cannot bear losing you, just the idea makes me shiver.''

''So, you are saying you bought this place so you won't be cold?" Voldemort cocked a thin eyebrow.

''Pretty much, my Lord,'' Bellatrix sighed a silent sigh of relief that he hadn't yelled or crucioed her.

''And it's all about you feeling better, isn't it? It has nothing to do with an inner urge of yours to protect me? To... _mother_ me, perhaps?'' his voice was getting lower and cooler by the second.

Bellatrix blinked and the smile left her face instantly. The Dark Lord considered such matters rather touchy and, the few times they had had similar conversations, they had ended up fighting and not exchanging looks for weeks. But they couldn't afford that now, a hideout for her master was more important than her pride.

''No, my Lord,'' she replied calmly, trying to keep her voice from shaking, ''it is a purely strategically wise choice and you failed to see its need. That is why I am so vital to you.''

Attitude and confidence were not her most likable qualities, but, oddly, these seemed to be the only things that intruiged and pacified the Dark Lord. Indeed-

''My dear, I would be sleeping at night twice as good as I do now, and I would still have my hair if you had never been born, so don't start with what in you is vital, because you may not like the verdict.''

Bellatrix sniggered playfully, hoping wholeheartedly this would be the end of the matter, for now anyway; her lord would definitely be extra snappy and rough for the next couple of weeks just to show her who's the boss in the relationship. She didn't mind though, it usually also meant a lot of fun in bed.

''Shall we proceed?" she asked.

With a curt nod, he led her through the gardens and inside the castle, where they started exploring the various rooms and making suggestions on improvements. Bellatrix hadn't been in the small dining alley for more than a minute, when she let out a chilling shriek, sped out of the room and hid behing Voldemort, with an expression that suggested she had faced Death himself.

''Anything bothering you, my dear?" Voldemort said casually. "Blood-thirsty ghost? Fall of the pureblooded aristocracy? Too big ego for such a delicate little girl?"

''Cockroach!" whispered Bellatrix horrified. "This big,'' she gestured at least three inches with her fingers. ''Dead. Make it go away!" she begged.

A broad, content smirk twisted Voldemort's lips upwards.

''We cannot always forget we are wearing skirts, can we?''

_A/N: Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think._

_It kinda makes sense, Black Forest, Black Family, huh? ;)_


	3. Operation Valkyrie

_In this chapter, young Tom Riddle is settling into his new apartment, when a blonde newcomer with a suspicious accent makes her appearance. And she brings the most interesting message from a fellow Dark Lord._

Tom looked around at the tiny apartment he had just agreed to buy for a piece of bread. It was on the third floor of a crumbled building in the highly populated and badly polluted East End of London. In fact, the general area of his new residence was the same with the one the orphanage stood- or, better, had been standing. Because the Nazi bombers had set his personal hell very appropriately on fire and, for the first time since the wretched war had began, Tom had smiled a toothy grin and had enjoyed the view as much as his throat could take the smoke.

The destruction of the orphanage, though a delightful treat for his birthday, did raise the question of 'what next' for the young Slytherin Heir who had grown up knowing that, according to the law, any child under the care of the state would be on their own when they became 16. He had sent a letter to Professor Dippet asking whether the wizarding world had any regulations or traditions regarding situations similar to his own, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts had answered, in an apologetic tone in fact, that his case was unique and nobody had ever thought of taking measures to help him out. So now, two years early, he was completely, officially alone in the world and free to decide for his life.

Dippet had been saddened and had offered unofficial assistance by contacting some of Tom's friend's parents to ask for hospitality or even work, but Riddle had shut him down gently. Despite the fact that his budget was too tight to afford a place within the wizarding community, Lord Voldemort would have never accepted that kind of help. Besides, deceiving a Muggle was far easier than deceiving a grown wizard. To be frank, the place he had found was a catch; the previous owner had given it up for nearly nothing, as he was sure the boy was insane for purchasing an apartment in the very heart of London that got bombarded every single night from the Nazis. What the Muggle did not know, of course, was that the young man was perfectly capable of protecting his residence most effectively against the bombs and fires- it had been a piece of cake, really.

The unexpected task, however, had been to fill the tiny apartment with… stuff; his stuff. Tom mainly owned books on every brand of magic he had read about in other books; books so big, they wouldn't fit in shelves and books so small, he had to put Traces on them so he could find them, and also books on foreign civilizations, languages and art, even books on manners. Since the space was scarce, Riddle had to perform the rather tricky Undetectable Extension Charm on every single wall. His nearly 1000 books fit easily, but probably he'd have to move on to using the floors and even ceilings soon, considering the pace in which his collection was increasing. But, after he had arranged them all according to subject and then alphabetically, Tom found himself staring at the floorboards without having a clue about what else he could add. He had already sealed the windows and covered them with bookcases –he could produce magical light, far better than London's dim sunshine that rarely found its way inside houses- and he hated most types of decorations, considering them useless and inefficient. When at the Room of Requirement, he would force it to look like a crossover of the Slytherin Common Room, the Library and the Black Castle, where he had been a guest a couple of times, but he couldn't afford anything like it, not at that point anyway.

Riddle had just decided to scribble down a list of furniture that could be useful, and was struggling to move over the triptych of bed-writing desk-something to sit on, when a knock on the door made his look up. With his left hand inside his pocket clutching his wand tightly, he approached the door carefully. Who could it possibly be? He hadn't told anyone about the purchase or even the fire bringing down the orphanage, and he wasn't expecting anyone from Hogwarts.

But when the visitor appeared, it as obvious they had never met. A young woman with long, straw-coloured hair and icy-blue eyes was looking at him appraisingly. She was about 18, tall and well-built, with broad shoulders that suggested she trained a lot, dressed in casual, yet expensive-looking satin robes. And she already had a broad smirk on her face. Tom hadn't got over how beautiful she was, when she spoke first in a confident, clear voice.

"Hallo, Tom Riddle, I'm Walküre Wittelsbach. We have a lot to talk about," she stated in a light German accent, and offered a hand to shake, instead of the customary hand-kissing that was considered appropriate for introductions between people of the opposite sex.

"How do you know my name?" Riddle asked curtly, focusing solely on the invasion of his privacy.

"Your name is the least I know about you," the blonde girl said dismissively. "If you're about to start asking questions, I'd say you start by asking how I know that you've been petrifying Mudbloods at Hogwarts with that scaly friend of yours, the basilisk."

Lord Voldemort couldn't possibly gape at a female, so his posture became completely rigid instead.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he blurted out in a steady tone. "How have you come to know my name, girl?"

Riddle took his wand out of his pocket and promptly held it in the aggressive position of an experienced duellist, but the newcomer eyed him suggestively, not in the least threatened, and let out a hoarse laugh.

"Don't you ever call me 'girl' again, or I'll make you less of a boy! And point that thing elsewhere before you find yourself in a situation you cannot handle. The Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald himself," she made a pause as if in respect to the name, "has been training me personally for years, you don't want to cross me and my wand."

"Grindelwald?" Riddle repeated slowly.

"Yes," Walküre smirked. "Perhaps you are not as far away from the brilliant picture the Dark Lord," she paused again in respect, "painted of you as I thought."

"I prefer the term 'genius'," Tom said coolly. "What did Grindelwald tell you about me?"

"Everything," the blonde replied, breathing hard in excitement. "He knows _everything_. You grew up an orphan in some slimy Muggle institution that caught fire last week during the great bombardment, you're a Slytherin, a student whose name is well-known to the whole world due to your… special abilities. And yes, he also told me about the… accidents you've had with your pet. He is very interested, Tom, and, frankly, so am I."

Her eyes, the colour of ice, sought his face feverishly, registering every detail of the pale, perfectly carved features with an almost animalistic hunger.

Riddle's head tilted to the side.

"Grindelwald is interested in me?" he repeated in a whisper, his own expression betraying his wild excitement.

"The Dark Lord," Walküre said formally, not failing to pause in respect, "has a _very_ generous offer to make. Personal training and then straight into his ranks of the most advanced-"

"Miss Wittelsback-" Tom started.

"Just Walküre, you're not my professor," Walküre interrupted haughtily.

"Valkyrie, thank you," Tom said in a professional tone, preferring the English version of the girl's name, "but I am not interested. It is indeed very generous, but I am afraid Grindelwald has made a mistake about me. I have no intention whatsoever of joining him in his vision for the wizarding world, all I hope to do is join the Law Enforcement Department of the British Ministry for Magic, it's the best fit for me."

"Does your pet basilisk agree?" taunted Walküre, not in the least convinced by his small speech.

"I have no idea how Grindelwald came up with that story, but I assure you, it is only a myth. Those unfortunate children got attacked by an unknown assaulter and, with a bit of luck, they will be back to normal in a few months. And I couldn't be happier for them."

"Yeah, you look overwhelmed with joy," she said sarcastically.

"I apologise if my emotions are not easily shown. It's one of my worst qualities and often gets me into trouble, but I swear on my mother's name, I am crying of happiness inside."

"Your dead mummy, you mean?" Walküre inquired. "Look, I don't know what angle you're working, but the Dark Lord is absolutely serious with the offer, so you should consider it."

"I did," Tom replied steadily, "only very briefly. I am sorry you had to get into so much trouble, but my answer is final. Have a good evening."

And he attempted to shut the door, but Walküre blocked him with her shoulder blade and eyed him coldly.

"Watch your moves, Riddle," she hissed softly. "Maybe one of those days they'll lead you to make a… horrible mistake. But not yet. I can wait. Until then, ja? Tschüß."

With a final, mischievous glance, she turned around unceremoniously and Disapparated on the spot.

Tom, overly eager to get rid of her a second ago, he remained standing at the door, staring blankly at the empty space the German girl had been occupying. Then, shaking his head, he went back inside the apartment, trying to make sense of his feelings. He had absolutely no doubt his decision was the right one. He was Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord and sorcerer the world had ever known, he couldn't start his career as a- a mere _flunky_ of another so-called Dark Lord. Riddle had impossibly high stakes, but he intended to achieve them all on his own; he did not require Grindelwald as a stepping stone.

No, his mind wasn't numb because of his decision. His brilliant brain was making valiant efforts to understand exactly why this girl's behaviour –attitude would be a better word- was so intriguing to him. Tom had encountered only two different kinds of reactions towards his person: either disgust, or admiration coupled with a revolting degree of humble obedience. Nobody had ever mocked him openly, never used his own sharp, merciless tongue against him; especially a _girl_. And yet, she, Valkyrie, left him there, staring stupidly at the floor, longing someone like her, who both admired him in the degree she admired Grindelwald, but also was bold enough to challenge him in every way.

A female warrior, that's what he needed.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. _

_Walküren, or Valkyries in English, are minor goddesses of the Skandinavian mythical world and they bring fallen warriors into the Valhalla. They are armed and escorted by ravens and swans. What closer to a Bellatrix is there? :P_


	4. Lilith, Eve and Lamya

_Apologies for the long wait, I had fallen_ _quite_ _sick, but here it is, the chapter where Tom meets Nagini for the first time. _

_Warning: There's a part that if you're squeamish... let's just say there are other, nicer things you could be doing right now. Because we find out what happened in the Horcrux cave with the orphans too. There is also some graphic violence in the beginning. So, this chapter is rated M, you've been warned. _

_Also, because of the long wait, a bonus chapter will be uploaded in less than 24h, starring both Voldemort and little Bella. Title? Murder at Jade Palace. _

Parseltongue is shown in _italics_, emphasis in **bold** letters. And yeah, I was talking in Parseltongue till now. :P

For Dragonsrule18 :)

* * *

"And stay there!" Mrs. Cole screamed, knobby finger poking the girl's skeletal chest so violently, the emaciated child took two steps back. She looked terrified at the matron of the orphanage, shyly at the much younger woman standing haughtily nearby and then turned around and raced for the door, instantly disappearing from sight.

The elder woman's face was red from anger and the heavy abuse of gin, and, in her rage, saliva sprayed all the orphans hanging from her skirts.

"As for you," she turned maliciously to a pale boy with high cheekbones who had his hands wrapped around himself, "pull one more stunt like that, Riddle, and I'll sell you back to that circus your whore of a mother came from! And they'll keep you locked up in a cage with the freaking child-eating lion!"

The matron extended a claw-like arm and tried to retrieve what Riddle was holding, but the child was not going down without a fight. They wrestled for a while, the hungry eyes of the orphans eating them up, when Mrs. Cole let out an off-tune shriek.

"You little freak!"

The next second, a bloody hand with distinctive bite marks on it hit the pale face so hard, the slap was echoed on the thin, filthy institution walls; the sharp nails slashed the cracked lips. Riddle didn't react audibly, just blinked, but the thing he had been so fiercely protecting fell from his hands onto the stony floor; a small book about basic algebra with a fine leather binding. His long fingers had stretched to get it back, but the matron was quicker. She swept it off the ground, blew on it and attempted to take away some of the dirt with her cuff, before turning to the beautiful, young woman who had been observing the scene all this time with an almost bored expression. Her nose wrinkled delicately as she smelled the alcohol in the older woman's breath and she, like the little beggar girl, moved away.

Mrs. Cole, perhaps due to her rage or maybe just the drinking, didn't seem to notice, for she faked a huge smile and spoke in what she thought was a sophisticated tone, ending up sounding unctuous instead.

"Here you go, madam, the gift to your beautiful, smart boy. I can't apologise enough for what happened, especially after having been so very kind to the children. I hope you don't think they're all like this, madam. You should know, madam-"

But the noblewoman shook her well-combed head, nodded to her maid to grab the book and, without uttering a single word, fled this bit of hell, mounting her car and ordering the chauffeur to get her back home as soon as possible.

The entrance hall of the orphanage remained quite frozen until the tail of the shiny car wasn't visible anymore, and then Mrs. Cole growled: "Riddle, yard, now."

She grabbed the boy by the shoulder and dragged him outside, the rest of the orphans instantly picking fights with each other over the positions at the windowsills. Tom followed the matron lazily, his expression completely unreadable.

The woman unfastened the leather belt that held her plain dress in place, and hissed: "Kneel!"

For the first time since all that mess had begun, the boy's expression changed, and he stared back defiantly, his posture as rigid as a board; he was not going to kneel, he was not going to bow to anyone.

Mrs. Cole's eyes narrowed, and she gave his head a great push, shoving him to the ground. He fell to the asphalt, his skinny, weak body not able to resist the force. The belt's strike came a second later.

"I have told you" –strike- "that I'm running" –strike- "a respectable institution" –strike- "that teaches civilization" -strike- "and manners" –strike- "to poor, unfortunate children," –strike- "and whores and criminals" –strike- "have no place here!" –strike- "I won't tolerate" –strike- "being humiliated" –strike- "in front of important guests" –strike- "by a freak!" –strike- "I'm giving you everything" –strike- "and you spit on it" –strike- "when I could let you starve on the streets!" –strike- "But we'll see" –strike- "what the loony" –strike- "bin" –strike- "doctor" –strike- "says!"

And with a last smack at the head with her shoe, Mrs. Cole left for the building, where the other kids jeered and pointed sarcastically at the show.

Tom Riddle was crumbled on the floor breathing hard, pieces of flesh hanging loosely from his back, blood stains spreading on his grey tunic and dripping down to the dirty courtyard. His icy gaze, as unreadable as ever, hadn't faltered for a moment, not a single cry had escaped his lips. But his eyes were burning scarlet with hatred now.

* * *

"Off you go, everyone, off the bus, chop-chop!" Mrs. Cole's imperious voice urged the orphans the minute they arrived at the sea-side village. "Go play, dear children. And remember, behave or you'll go the whole week with a piece of bread!"

Young and older orphans poured out of the ancient bus and flooded the streets with excited shrieks and laughter. Some, even, stood and smelled the salty air in an awe-struck expression.

"Move on, you!" Mrs. Cole barked at the pale boy that was descending the bus staircase carefully. She gave him a great push so that he tripped and fell down, completely skipping the last step. The flesh wounds that had barely started to heal properly were ripped open again, leaving a bloody trail on the steps.

"You're gonna have to clean that up, boy," the driver growled at Tom.

"You heard him," Mrs. Cole said aggressively. "Pick up the mop, kid!"

* * *

Tom walked slowly through the trees away from the other kids, lonely and more miserable and hopeless than he had ever felt. He tended to be very motivated and the control over his emotions would leave a grown man surprised, but cleaning up your own blood from the extremely smelly city bus had something deeply melancholic in it. Especially when it had been spilt in the first place just because he had taken a book that its rich owners would never understand or even bother to open. And that drunken old cat had issues with the beggar girl he had convinced to help, when all the kids in her 'care' were the glorious offspring of hookers and crooks?

His usually ice-cold eyes stung and he blinked rapidly to choke back the tears. Tom deposited himself delicately on a flat stone in a place deep into the grove, and stared blankly at the naked earth.

The young boy's eye caught a clan of busy ants running in and out of their home, their antennas clutching leaves and seeds. They were so happy, so ignorant and busy. Sometimes he wondered whether his life would be easier to live if his perception was less agile. Would he be able to swallow perhaps the pathetic life he was supposed to live, in stead of constantly looking for ways to succeed and escape his fate? Or would he end up like the old cat, bitter and alone, gulping down cheap drink after cheap drink, not remembering how 'pathetic' is spelt?

Tom had never considered hurting himself, his brain was precious and his body blessed, but even so, what if nothing came out of it? What was the use, when, in the contrary, those characteristics got him in even worse trouble because everyone was jealous and scared of his abilities? What was the use of anything…?

Something stirred in the bush behind the ant-hole, and Tom's head shot up. It was green, scaly and slender; a snake.

Half a smile twitched on Tom's face. Snakes were the only creatures on earth that didn't shrink back at the sight of him, the only creatures that realized the greatness this small, emaciated boy hid inside him. They would come to him as if he were a snake-magnet, slithering and whispering, always addressing him as 'master' or 'the chose one'. They obeyed him hypnotized by his gaze and hang from every word he spoke. They weren't much to talk to, for their brain was infinitely smaller than his own, but still, it was nice to have some company once in a while.

Only this time, the disturbance caused to the bushes was more evident than those usually caused by the small grass snakes of England. Tom estimated that what he had first seen was just the tail of a gigantic snake. He got glimpses of loops thicker than both his skinny thighs put together, and then the large, triangular head greeted him in a low hiss.

"_Master_," the giant serpent bowed its head to the child.

"_Hi_," Tom hissed back, trying to take his usual imperious demeanor.

"_I_ _have long wished to meet you, my Master,"_ the snake whispered and its unblinking eyes with the vertical pupils widened in apparent delight.

Tom shot her- because the high voice and superb size suggested unmistakably a female- an appraising look.

_"How did you come to hear about me?"_

The snake tilted its head to the side like a domesticated dog.

"_The universe whispers melodically to those who listen," _she answered cryptically.

It was Riddle's turn to tilt his head.

_"And what did... ehm, the universe tell you about me?"  
"A song about a remarkable warrior, an outstanding leader and extraordinary... __**riddle **__who will shift the destiny of humanity."_

_"I... I'll be all those things?" _

_"Do you know another Riddle?"_ smirked the snake, and, when Tom remained silent, she added: _"I can see greatness in you, Master, I am sure you are aware of that too."_

"_Yes_," breathed Tom before he could stop himself.

The snake smirked even broader, her poisonous fangs fully visible.

_"What else do you know about my future?" _he inquired breathlessly.

"_Magic_," she hissed instantly, _"I hear powerful magic flowing from you, springing like water from a fountain in the rainforests of my home, magic bewitching yourself and the aura around you." _

"_Magic_?" repeated Tom softly.

_"Figure of speech, perhaps,"_ the snake shifted the loops of her body and rested her head on them like a child.

_"What else?"_

_"I hear Dark magic transforming you into me and me into you."_

_"And?"_

_"Nothing more, Master..."_

_"What about the end? What's going to happen to me?" _insisted Tom.

"_I cannot hear anything about this, Master, the deep future is clouded even for those adapt to listening to the songs of fate," _said the snake apologetically, but when she spotted Riddle's crimson eyes, she added: "_Master, greatness leads only to two results, either triumph or devastation."_

Tom seemed to be deep in thought, assessing possibilities.

"_I can live with that_," he finally said.

The snake felt the air with her tongue.

"_I_ _know_."

"_Why are you here?"_ Tom asked again.

_"I am here for you, Master."_

_"Why now?"_

_"You were in a dark place."_

_"How do you know? The universe sang about that too?"_

_"Call that a... family's intuition,"_ the snake winked.

Tom fell back in silence.

_"You're no ordinary snake, are you?"_

_"No, Master,"_ she said delicately, "I _am no ordinary snake at all."_

_"What is your- what abilities do you have?"_

_"Oh, you will come to find out soon enough, Master_," she smiled airily_. "My sole mission now is your well-being, my Master_."

_"And what's your name?"_

_"I have no name, Master."_

_"How could you have no name? Everyone's got a name,"_ muttered Tom, choking back comments on gross, disgraceful names.

"_I_ _have many names,"_ she whispered. "_Some have called me Lilith in the past, others preferred Eve or Lamya. But in my native countries I am known as Nagini, The Female Serpent."_

_"Nagini, then,"_ concluded Tom.

_"Nagini,"_ she echoed.

_"So, Nagini,"_ started Riddle,_ "what are you going to do for me now?"_

"_Cheer you up?"_ the emerald snake flicked her tongue.

_"That'd be nice. And it __**would**__ prove you have special powers..."_

The serpent hissed louder, as if taking up the challenge. She turned her head around and her yellow eyes fell on the orphans playing in the distance. They were kicking around empty beer bottles and chasing each other in a game of hide-and-seek.

_"I can see in your mind that they have wronged and hurt you, Master,"_ Nagini stated. "_They must pay."_

_"They must,"_ agreed Tom. _"But I can't even move today, that old cat,_" he pointed at Mrs. Cole who was supervising the games with her belt in hand_, "has had a good go on my back this week."_

_"That can easily be taken care of,"_ Nagini smiled a toothy grin to reveal at least two more sets of poisonous fangs than the average snake. _"What did the human children do to you? I cannot see that in your mind, you protect yourself well."_

_"Last year_ _they pushed me off that cliff over there,"_ Tom said darkly, _"the one that ends at the sea. They said they wanted to see if_ _freaks can fly."_

The serpent hissed louder than ever.

_"I fell into the water, but the rocks didn't slash me and I could breath underwater. I swam and found a cave in a slit among the rocks of the cliff. When I returned here, they were telling the old cat that I had run away and she agreed to leave without searching."_

_"They will pay today, Master," _Nagini stated, her vertical pupils opening sadistically in an almost human manner. _"And so will the woman."_

_"Wondering whether __**they**__ can fly?" _Tom asked through gritted teeth.

_"No, Master, I am actually wondering whether they can enjoy my company."_

Nagini opened her mouth wide and all four sets of teeth secreted a yellowish liquid; snake venom.

A curt laugh escaped Riddle's lips and a crooked smile illuminated his tired face.

_"Can you go down the cave on your own?"_ he asked mischievously.

* * *

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Amy Benson muttered worriedly, keeping her arms close to her small body.

"I told you," Tom said smoothly, "I've been here before, I know the way perfectly well."

"I still don't think it's a good idea, Riddle," Dennis Bishop eyed the taller boy suspiciously.

"I know you don't trust me, Dennis, and I totally get you, I wouldn't trust me either, but I swear on my life, it'll be worth the trip. I found the cave that time I fell off the cliff and it's absolutely amazing, you're going to love it," Tom beamed brightly.

"Does the trip include a woops-I-shoved-you-off-a-cliff part?" Dennis muttered.

"No, I told you, I want to make up for all the trouble I've got you in, we'll share all the treasure! We'll be rich!"

Tom continued walking through the weed-infested rocks and bushed in an odd crouched way that suggested he was still in pain due to the previous beatings. His grey tunic had some fresh stains on it and Amy didn't miss the chance to point them out to her friend.

"Come on, what can he do? Don't you see his back? Can't even walk proper, if he pulls a stunt we can take him down. Mrs. Cole said he hasn't eaten in two days, how difficult can it be?"

Dennis nodded with more confidence than he actually had, when Amy let out a high-pitched scream.

"Snaaake! I swear, I saw it there!"

"Just keep walking," Tom waved at them both in a reassuring tone. "The snakes here won't hurt you- _yet_."

Soon the air became more salty and angry, whipping their faces and spraying them with droplets of sea-water, so the three children had to wrap themselves in their thin clothing to keep warm.

"How much more?" cried Amy, her voice loud in order to cover the shrieking wind.

"Oh, we're close," Tom smiled broadly.

"Close to what, Riddle?" Dennis yelled, his hand keeping his precious hat on the top of his head. "That's the end of the way, the cliff's right there!"

"My point exactly! Come over and see, it's breathtaking!"

The kids approached the edge of solid ground carefully and finally stood next to Tom, who was gazing down. He was right, the view was absolutely amazing; the waves were churning and foaming around the large chunks of rock that had broken off the earth millions of years ago, while the rest of the cliff stood there, unmoving and stoic at its martyrdom of eternal attrition.

"It's really amazing," Amy admired, and Dennis nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Wanna see it up closer?" asked Tom, his eyes gleaming.

"How?" the kids demanded eagerly.

"You can jump down," Tom said matter-of-factly.

"Jump down? But you said-" started Amy in an slightly hysteric voice.

"I said I won't shove you off the cliff," nodded Tom seriously. "You're going to jump. Like this."

And with a theatric bow he dove down, both kids staring, jaws hanging open as Tom landed rather gracefully on a lower rock that was protruding from the main cliff surface. He flashed them a smile and waved 'come down'. But Amy and Dennis had suddenly lost all appetite for risky excursions with the freak of the institutions- not for all the money in the world would anyone climb down these rocks willingly.

Apparently that's what Tom thought too, because the next second reality was erased from the kids' minds and they were flowing in a sea of nothingness. 'Just jump down', a caring voice whispered in their ears, 'jump down, that's all you have to do'. The next time their brain was free to register external stimuli, they found themselves face to face with Tom Riddle- in the middle of the sea.

"Ahhh," shrieked Amy, for the sight of the sharp, bleak cliffs was just too much. In her panic, she slipped on the slime-covered rock they were standing on, but Riddle's iron clutch held her in place.

"You can't get yourself killed just yet," he said softly, "I'm not even started yet."

"What're you gonna do with us?" asked Dennis, his voice shaking violently with fright.

"Have fun," Tom smiled. "Come, the party is in there. Now, come along quietly, you don't want me to hurt you, do you? We're friends, aren't we?"

The small kids exchanged terrified looked. They weren't speaking, but their thoughts were obvious. They didn't know the boy leading the way. The kid they had known was weird, creepy even with his love for solitude and complete lack of emotion, but this one- this one was someone else. Not a boy, but a man or more, cold, without pity, because he enjoyed watching them suffer. Amy and Dennis obeyed him, for they couldn't fathom what could happen to them if they didn't- getting thrown to the raging Black Sea, perhaps, or having their skulls crashed on the rocks. Good thing they had no family to mourn and miss them...

Tom was leading the way through rocks and riffs, until he reached a sleek slit on the cliff's surface. With an elegant move, he slid in the water and gestured to follow him.

"I can't swim," Amy said, breathless.

"Doesn't matter."

The water was ice-cold, paralyzing, but not too deep. It also seemed to be pushing them on its own deeper and deeper inside the cave with minimal effort. After a few minutes of silence, Tom ascended stony steps and very gallantly offered his arm to help Amy out of the water. His clothes seemed already dry and warm, while they stood there, shivering, with knives stabbing them all over. It was pitch-dark, as if the light of life had never even heard of this place, and they couldn't see much, but the next second brilliant sparks erupted from Riddle's fingers and hovered around them.

They were in an underwater cavern, like the ones from fairytales, only it was a fair bet that no mermaids and other wondrous mythical creatures resided here. Actually, it looked like they were the only living beings around. Sharp stalagmites and stalactites adorned the cave's walls and black sand snapped under their feet. And small, shiny droplets of water were dripping from the stalagmites down to a lake, the metallic clink of the collision interrupting the deadly silence. If Amy hadn't been scared out of her mind, perhaps she would have thought the odd connection between this deserted, dark place and their guide.

"Comfy, isn't it?" Tom smiled a shark-smile. "Now, where is my other guest? She's my co-host, really."

He was talking casually, his smooth voice echoing in the small 'room', giving it an unearthly quality. And as if the kids were not scared enough by then, the tall boy started hissing and spitting without a break to breathe. Was he having some sort of seizure? But no, his eyes were as cold as ever, his posture rigid.

Something was glowing inside the lake now, a ghostly green and worryingly thin silhouette that was swiftly emerging and approaching the black coast.

Dennis seconded Amy with a scream this time when Nagini's jaws snapped less than an inch from his face. With a great splash, the giant serpent deposited itself on the ground, apparently untouched by the water.

_"Master, how wonderful to see you again,"_ she bowed. "_And you brought company. Excellent."_

Nagini was looking greedily at the two children, as if she were deciding the recipe she would cook them with.

The kids were staring at the conversation between the orphan and the snake completely silent, not able to utter a word, until Dennis managed to stammer: "w-what i-is it s-sa-saying?"

He didn't expression surprise at Riddle's ability to communicate with a reptile, or even that snakes could really understand speech- all that mattered was getting back home.

"She's saying that she's hungry. And that she wonders how you taste," Tom answered the question in a conversational tone. "She's thinking she might take a bite. Not from the girl, too skinny, too much hair, but you, Dennis, my friend, should make a nice supper."

Nagini let out something that was unmistakably a snigger at the children's absolute horror.

"Nooo!" cried Amy, "please, don't- this can't be true, it can't, I don't- I don't believe it!" And she started punching herself hysterically, as if trying to wake up from the horrifying nightmare.

"I assure you, it's real," Tom said with unfaltering calmness. "That's why it's so much fun. But I told you, you don't have to be afraid of anything, only Dennis is invited over for dinner."

The snake had already made her way through the humans' feet and was close to Dennis, her head supported by her powerful muscles up high in the air. She flicked her tongue close to the boy's face, who was literally paralysed on the spot, and curled herself around him in a deadly embrace. His mouth opened in a silent cry for help, and his lips twitched in what could have been the word 'mummy', before Nagini mimicked him, the pinkness of her mouth and the sharpness of her teeth glistening in the sparks Tom had conjured.

Before Riddle's delighted eyes, the snake stretched, and her extremely flexible jaws opened wide, far beyond the width of her own head. The shiny green loops forced the poor child's body inside her throat the moment Amy collapsed with a muffled thud on the black sand.

Dennis' arms and legs were twitching spastically and the most nauseating scream came from the snake's gut, causing Riddle to roar with laughter. Nagini was convulsing now violently to swallow down the child, when suddenly she made an odd motion as if she sneezed, and spit Dennis out, right next to the unconscious Amy; he had passed out too, covered in saliva and yellowish venom.

"_Now why would you do that for?"_ complained Tom, with the expression of someone who had just been denied the highest pleasure in life.

_"Bloody kid, too many bones,"_ Nagini hissed angrily. _"What do they feed you up there? The bones almost punctured my scales... Also, I insist that a dead body would reflect badly on you."_

_"Nobody will find him here!"_

_"I am deeply sorry, Master, you will need me later in life, dying here of indigestion is not an option for us. But you can make good use of my venom now by applying it on your back-wounds."_

Tom thought for a while and, in the end, he had to admit the logic of his new pet. He was about to take his shirt off and start tending to the slashes on his back, when he noticed Nagini slithering back to the lake.

_"Where are you going?"_ he demanded.

_"I have to go, my Master," _Nagini said in an apologetic tone. _"You don't need me anymore."_

_"When will you be back?"_

_"When the time comes, you will be in great need of me, and I will be there to offer you assistance and devote my life to you entirely."_

Tom stared at her blankly, as if he weren't sure of the emotions he was experiencing.

_"We will meet again, I promise,"_ she said kindly.

_"Soon?"_ Tom asked, his face wearing back the usual expressionless mask.

_"Possibly_," the snake hissed and dove into the water. She had reached the other end of the cavern when she emerged for a last time and waved with her tail to be gone out of sight the next second.

Tom stood there, on the black coast, until the final waves she had caused ceased.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. _


	5. Murder at Jade Palace

_This is a bonus-fic, unrelated to any previous chapter, but it does fit the original prompt that inspired the collection. _

_Mr. Riddle had brought the Black Family a precious singing bird as a gift, only soon it is found dead in its cage, leaving the residents looking for the perpetrator. _

"Nooooo!"

The heartbreaking wail woke up the whole Black Castle much sooner than anyone had been planning. Owners, guests, servants and house-elves left the breakfast table, bed or kitchen, where they had been spending the early hours of the bright morning, and ran through corridors and old rooms filled with furniture covered by white cloths to reach the east patio, where the dreadful scream had come from.

The east patio was a large room that turned into a sun-lit veranda after a few meters in, equipped with a beautiful set of an immaculate white brunch table and matching chairs and disturbed only by carefully-placed copper pots of plants. The last few days though, the Blacks had also added a vast, filigree cage made of silver, jade and ivory for the family's latest addition: a rare, colourful songbird that Mr. Riddle had brought from his travels in Asia.

Like any fashionable songbird, it would chirp cheerful tunes through the day while hopping around playfully, and sweeter, more romantic melodies at night. It was also able to mimic the human voice and to sing the lyrics of existing songs by memory and magic only.

Mr. Riddle had not sufficiently explained how he had obtained such a wonder, as its trade and hunting was illegal, but Lady Black and her girls had been delighted. They had named it Iris without even bothering to check the gender, and had eagerly made arrangements for her plush little nest.

And there, in front of the fine cage, a small body was collapsed, shaking with violent sobs.

"Cissy!" Andromeda broke from the group of people and elves and ran to her little sister. "Cissy, what happen- ahh!" the second Black Sister cried too. Iris was lying on the bottom of the cage, apparently unharmed, but stiff and cold, unmoving.

Mr. Riddle, the only one wearing actual clothes instead of a morning gown, walked carefully past the two sobbing girls, and touched lightly the songbird with his elegant fingers.

"It is dead," he confirmed softly.

"Dead? Oh, but why?" Walburga Black whispered, and held both of her young sons, who were still wearing bibs with hippogriffs on, close to her.

"She seemed fine last night," Druella said, while two of the maids wiped tears in their aprons and the house-elves hurried to offer handkerchiefs to their young mistresses.

"Indeed, madam," muttered one of the maids, "ate all of her worms, she did, and lots of millet, madam. And she was singing that song, sir, about the New World, how could she just-"

"Ask her!" Narcissa said mournfully, and pointed an accusing finger at...

"What do I have to do with anything?" the eldest Black Sister came to the defense. Even though barely ten years old, Bellatrix was already comfortable with women's clothing and could easily stare someone down.

"You said it smelt bad and that we've got too many pets anyway! You said that two days ago, didn't she, Andy?"

"Yeah..."

"That doesn't mean I killed it, if that's the case, I'd have killed both of you when you were babies!" Bellatrix argued, believing this to be a powerful counter-argument.

"Bellatrix!" her mother hissed.

"It's true, Mother!"

"Bella," her Aunt Walburga started soothingly, "your sisters are just very sad, they didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Just try and walk in their shoes..."

"You mean, like, start sobbing over the corpse of an overly-bright feather-ball?"

"Bellatrix Black!"

"If we could just take a breath, ladies?"

Mr. Riddle's polite voice came calm and collected through the chaos of tears, cries and sobs. "It was more than obvious that young Miss Black was on the opposite end of the spectrum of excitement about my gift -and I am very sorry if I upset her with my actions- but we need to look at the facts. Lack of magical traces means this bird died of natural causes last night, while Miss Black and the rest of us were resting, and therefore looking for a perpetrator is pointless- though understandable.

I suggest the young ladies pick up their little pet and make arrangements for an appropriate funeral while we finish our breakfast. This will bring some closure to us all, yes? A nice, suitable ceremony for our faithful friend."

The two girls that were sitting still on the floor nodded tearfully, and Walburga did not miss the chance to grab both of her sons and usher them out of the patio and back to their bedroom while the children cried in sync: ''parrot dead, parrot dead!"

Druella cast a look at her late husband's consultant, and, when he cocked an eyebrow playfully, she offered her hands to her younger daughters and marched out of the room after her sister-in-law, Iris wrapped comfortably in a silk handkerchief. The menials followed the family exchanging worried looks. Bellatrix was about to leave too and was apparently hoping to avoid meeting the fiery gaze of Mr. Riddle, when his clear voice sent her plans down in flames.

"Miss Black, a word, please?" he said in his usual, easy tone.

"Sir, I swear," Bellatrix started talking quickly, looking anywhere but the fiery eyes, "it was not me! I would never destroy anything of yours, not even the bird. I didn't do it, Sir!"

"Oh, you'll be denying that in a minute," Voldemort mused, and then added: "Stop talking and listen. I can tell when I am being lied to, and I can also tell when I see traces of magic- Now, hush, I asked you to let me finish! What you did was impressive, very impressive indeed. But you can do better. I can teach you that.

I can show you how to kill without a trace, how to inflict maximum pain, and how to save someone even when they are a breath away from death. I will teach you every bit of magic there is, because I need witches like you. We will do amazing things together, things that will change wizarding history.

So, did you kill my bird, Bellatrix Black?"

"Yes."

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. _


	6. Bonded and Caged

_This is a not-so-small last one-shot, relevant to the concept of pets, and written for the Minefield Challenge of the HPFC. Given prompts were: (action) sweeping, (action) sneezing._

_Warning: This fic includes a conversation about BDSM and domestic violence. If you don't like the first and/or find the second upsetting, surely you can find something else to do. The rating is M._

_The dedication is split three ways: 1. for elvisavenue, who liked the collection and wanted some more :) 2. for Dragonsrule18, for an idea, half the title, and to make her smile, and 3. for my poor Ella who is very sick and will read this after she gets better. Thank you, guys, that's for you :D _

"Bella?"

Lord Voldemort had spoken in a quiet, thoughtful voice, without taking his eyes from what he was writing.

"Yes, my Lord?" Bellatrix instantly dropped the model of Europe she was working on and swept towards her Master eagerly.

"I was thinking," the Dark Lord continued, "perhaps you should pay a visit to your sister, Narcissa, spend some time with her."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix' lips parted in apparent confusion and her eyes widened, as horrible suspicions crept in her mind.

"A quiet environment will do you good," Voldemort said, his eyes still fixated on the calculations he was elegantly scribbling down.

Bellatrix, who knew her master preferred to look people in the eye to both enjoy the unease his presence caused and study their nature, couldn't help but take the devotion to his work as an ominous sign. Could he possibly be ashamed of himself for shipping her away because her mood swings and frequent meltdowns were annoying the hell out of him?

"Master, if I may," she muttered, embarrassed, "your presence is the most wonderful thing I can hope for in my day, it is enough to help me with... everything."

Voldemort cocked a non-existent eyebrow, but he still would not look at his lieutenant.

"I know," said softly, not the slightest emotion while confirming such a confession, "but you are too close to the battle here. It upsets and excites you, while you should be relaxing right now. Wiltshire is a nice, quiet county with friendly weather and your sister's manor very comfortable, it should do. And Bath is not that far from there, you could have a small excursion with your sister- or not," he added when Bellatrix let out a pained little noise. "Come, Bella, you keep exaggerating about this, but there must be something you two can do together."

"Actually..." Bellatrix muttered miserably, "there isn't. I raised her, Master, and not in the best way, but I know her, and if she weren't my blood, I doubt we would ever be close, we have _very_ different interests..."

"Like what?" Voldemort asked, a tiny bit of interest colouring his voice.

"I- Well- She- My sister- She likes... ahem, girly things, while I'm more-more of a..." Bellatrix' eloquence seemed to be reaching its breaking point.

"Of a Bellatrix?" Voldemort helped her out with a half-smile. "It may come as a shock to you, but I have noticed. From the day you were born, really, since I was the one who chose your name. It took all of my genius abilities, of course..."

"I'm sure," Bellatrix grinned toothily before she could help herself.

"So, how does your sister spend her days?"

"I... I don't know, Master," she frowned, apparently thinking hard. "I know she makes hats sometimes, because she told me she had made one when I commented on it-"

"Not a good idea," Voldemort interrupted, while he continued his complex calculations, "you'll probably sew your fingers on the fabric two minutes in, and you need your fingers, Bella."

"That's true," smiled Bellatrix, who didn't seem particularly offended by her Lord's haughty comment, "and she used to enjoy needle-work, managed to make a full wardrobe for the boy, but-"

"-But we don't have the luxury of picking up corpses killed by knitting needles right now," Voldemort spoke up yet again, scarlet sarcasm gleaming in his eyes. "I have promised you Lucius will die, Bella, but not now and certainly not by a needle. And I have work to do now, so I won't be able to watch, either. So no."

"Master, I would never kill my-"

"Bella, objects gain murderous qualities just by being in your presence, your intensions are completely irrelevant to the effect," Voldemort deadpanned.

"...point taken," muttered Bellatrix, her smile turning evil. "And I am _not_ going shopping with Narcissa, or I'll come back unrecognizable, probably in some pink frock with frills and bows up to my-"

"I get the picture," Voldemort hurried to cover her voice. "I do wonder how you would look as a blonde, though, you sister could-"

"Master!" Bellatrix exclaimed horrified. "I am NOT changing my haircolour unless your very head is at stake!"

"Fine, but one day it might be," the Dark Lord hissed mischievously. "Now, how about those cakes you said your sister baked? Does she do that often?"

"Baked?" repeated Bellatrix, three times more shocked than she had been until then. "Well, yes, she says it takes her mind off things, but, Master, you cannot _possibly_ expect me to cook for you."

"Not for me," Voldemort let out a curt laugh, "baking can be calming though, and it does help you express the violent emotions which I am sure you harbour."

"You know what could help with that?" Bellatrix said loudly. "Expressing them on an actual person, which you won't let me do more than once a week!" And she stuck her nose up in the air, arms folded on her chest.

"I still believe that a stack of horribly disfigured corpses of Muggles will be biohazardous waste for the whole manor," Voldemort said nonchalantly, not in the least affected by Bella's murderous stare.

"And you think that eating anything I have prepared will be beneficial to your health?" drawled Bellatrix.

"Don't say that, Bella, you are an excellent Potioneer, how different can it be?"

"Erm..." Bellatrix pretended to be thinking hard, "Potions don't have to taste good? Plus, most Potions are designed to kill you, anyway. Get it right, they die, get it wrong, they die in pain, big difference."

"Sometimes I wonder what Dumbledore taught you at that school," mused Voldemort melancholically.

"Nothing," Bellatrix reminded him, "you taught me everything I know, remember? And, anyway, cooking is not appropriate for a lady of my standing," she sniffed, "I've told Cissy a million times but she gets all romantic on me, about the colours that match, calming the waves and whatever, I'm tired of telling her again..."

"Good, because I am tired of telling you to go meet her," Voldemort nodded. "So, I shall come pick you up in three hours from your sister's house, that should be enough to make a tasty pile of cupcakes. Write to me if something goes wrong."

Bellatrix' smile faded as if a switch had been turned off. She would have liked to bargain a bit more, but the Dark Lord's voice had something very final in it, and she swallowed the question on how he knew the time needed to make cupcakes. At least she would still be spending the night with him.

"Of course, Master, thank you," she whispered.

* * *

"So," Narcissa exclaimed happily, "now the fun part begins! We mix the ingredients togeth- Now come off it, Bella, don't look like you're going to be hanged, baking is so much fun! And I did pick a simple recipe just for you!"

It was probably the brightness of her sister's tone that made Bella's pale cheeks pink up; sweet, innocent Cissy, even after decades of knowing her and living in an ugly, harsh world, still refused to believe that her big sister was anything more that 'a bit bizarre'. Not getting the slightest hint, she continued:

"And now, why don't you get all the ingredients needed, so we won't have to look around for them like crazy people while we work? The milk is in that jug over there. And careful, don't spill it, I need it for the evening, I'll be making a red velvet cake, it's going to be so amazing with that creamy-"

Narcissa started babbling about all the recipes she intended to execute during the upcoming month, what new ingredients would be needed and how excited she felt about it, while Bellatrix looked around for the floor and sugar as if she was trying to incinerate them by just gazing at them. Pots and jugs came sweeping through the air and landed on the heavy working table with a massive thud in order to show the extend of Bella's annoyance of being ordered around like a common house-elf. The flour container, a fine, porcelain jar with beautiful blue patterns on it, cracked, and clouds of flour erupted. Coughing and sneezing, Bellatrix hissed: "Oh, I can totally see the fun in baking. Wait 'till we turn on the stove, I'll probably burn the whole place down. I'm surprised you haven't already!"

"Don't say things like that," Narcissa scolded her, "they're not funny. And I've fixed the stove myself. You can try to be nicer to things, you know."

"Yeah, because they might hurt the way I handle them and I wouldn't wish to cause any _pain_ to anyone," Bellatrix muttered through gritted teeth, but her sister didn't seem to notice.

"Now, time for the cake!" Narcissa announced. "Get the butter here and mix it with the sugar..." Narcissa added a bleak amount of butter in an equally small pile of sugar and encouraged Bellatrix to do the same in her own bowl. Bellatrix cut off some butter hesitantly and waited for further instructions with a mock-patient expression on her face.

"Well, go on, cream them," Narcissa said and, after rolling up her sleeves, started working on the mixture.

Bellatrix was looking at her literally open-mouthed, as if she was finding it hard to believe what she was seeing. Then, she extended two fingers in each hand and attempted to mimic Narcissa- in veil, of course.

"You need to use all of your fingers and palms, Bella," giggled Narcissa. "Here, roll up your sleeves, it'll be easier and you won't destroy your dress. You should have worn something less... ahem, nice for baking, now you'll be all worried about destroying it." And indeed, Narcissa had let go of her favourite precious gowns to swap them for a simple blue dress for the occasion.

"I'd rather keep them as they-" Bellatrix was saying, but Narcissa had already cleaned her hands and was rolling her sister's sleeves up without hesitation, when she let out a small cry.

"What now?" muttered Bellatrix, who, knowing her sister, was sure she had noticed some sort of tiny insect crawling on the windowsill and wanted it exterminated. But she was wrong.

"Where did you get _that_?" Narcissa said in a high-pitched voice.

"Get what, Cissy?" asked Bellatrix, puzzled.

"_That_!" Narcissa pointed a shaky finger at a deep, clean cut that ran across Bella's whole forearm; fine bruises in mauve and lilac spread around it.

"Oh, that's-that's nothing," blushed Bellatrix, "just a small accident last night..." And she tried to pull the sleeve down, but her sister didn't let her. Though the most kind-hearted and sweetest member of the Black family in ten centuries Narcissa was, she was not stupid- she could easily tell that the bruises composed the bloody print of a strong, thin grip.

"Is he _beating_ you?" hissed Narcissa, and, subconsciously, Bellatrix took a step back, because she had never seen her sister with such a serious and angry expression; ever.

"What? No, no, don't be silly," Bellatrix dismissed her speculations.

"Bella, I know I'm not as smart or talented as you are, but don't underestimate my intelligence. This," Narcissa pointed at the bruises with absolute disgust, "is a hand, a human hand that grabbed you, don't you dare tell me it's not!"

"It _was_ him," hurried Bellatrix on with the defense, "but it's not what you think, he just hasn't got a- a sense of his strength- he-"

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" shrieked Narcissa hysterically. "He's the freaking Dark Lord, he can control minds, don't tell me he can't control his body! Here, stand still so I can fix it and then I'm going to have a word-"

"No, don't!" It was Bella's time to yell and her anger was much scarier than the blonde's. She covered the injury with the sleeve of her robes and shielded it from view.

"Oh, I _will_!" Narcissa cried determined. "I don't care if he's the Dark Lord, you're my sister and he has no right hurting you like that, you've got the right to your own opinion! He should be ashamed of himself, I don't care what you did wrong and how angry he was! I'd smack him down if I were you! And you _can_ do it, Bella!"

"Narcissa!" Bellatrix cried in shock. "Don't you dare say such things!"

"Or what?" Narcissa breathed hard. "Or what? He'll do the same to me, or is it a privilege he offers just to you?"

"...sort of..." muttered her sister, and the blonde looked as if she were about to have a stroke along with a heart-attack.

"Sort of? _Sort of_?" her voice got so high-pitched, that she got silenced for a while and, when she could speak again, continued in a more quiet, yet dead serious tone: "Bella, I know he is the Dark Lord and that-that he means quite a lot to you and you- you... anyway, my point is, I get you, but he needs to _respect_ you. Because you _deserve_ his respect." Narcissa's pale eyes were almost pleading now.

Bellatrix shook her head spastically and opened and closed her mouth several times, not able to find the appropriate words. How was she supposed to explain to her sweet, innocent sister how she had got the cuts and bruises? But events forced her to, when Narcissa made another attempt to heal the cut.

"Cissy, no! I don't want you to fix it, I... I _like_ it..." she said softly, and Narcissa froze, wand in mid-air.

"You what?" she hissed deadly, and Bellatrix realised for the first time in her life that Narcissa was indeed a blood-relative of hers; she could see her own strong determination and animalistic tendencies that the blonde apparently covered quite well under layers and layers of sleek fabric. A bizarre, sweet fluid she had learnt to associate with the Dark Lord flooded her veins and took over her body. And it gave her the courage to explain the bruises in the best way she could.

"Look, Cissy," she started uncomfortably, "he didn't get angry with me or anything, I... I _wanted_ him to do it." Bellatrix could almost see the gigantic question mark materialize over her sister's head. "We were in bed," she added quietly.

Narcissa remained completely still for a while, as if she were trying to connect in her mind the concept of in sex and injury in her mind. Then she said hesitantly: "So you sat still as he carved your flesh while you were doing... well, you-know-what?"

"No-ot exactly... Well, you really don't want to know the details, Cissy, but my point is that it was consensual and quite fun, I may add," Bellatrix made an effort to smile reassuringly.

Narcissa nodded slowly.

"Okay-y-y..."

"But...?" sighed Bellatrix, seeing the million questions and objections rising in her sister's eyes.

" You- I- It's-" Narcissa struggled. "It's not healthy," she finally stated.

"I know," Bellatrix agreed, as if she confirmed the batter needed more milk.

"And... and you intend to..." Narcissa made a gesture asking her to complete the sentence.

"I need this, Cissy," Bellatrix said seriously. "And so does the Dark Lord. It's the way we work. But I swear, he has never laid a hand on me like that. We rarely even fight, you know..."

"I can imagine..." muttered Narcissa, who would have been very surprised if she ever found out that Bellatrix dared challenge the Dark Lord she so deeply adored. She tilted her head to the side, the end of her long, pale hair diving into the batter, but she didn't even notice. It seemed that she, like Bella before, was seeing her sister clearly for the first time. And maybe Bellatrix had been delighted to find some common ground, Narcissa wasn't sure she wanted to delve more into the matter- it scared her.

"At least, let me fix it now," she suggested.

"I told you 'no', Cissy," Bellatrix hid her arm behind her back. "I told you, I like it."

"You like what?" Narcissa couldn't help the question. "A bloody line all over your arm?"

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile.

"Kind of, yeah. It's pretty."

"Like... in general? You like random cuts on your body?"

"It sounds horrible when you put it like that," Bellatrix observed hoarsely.

"It sounds bad no matter how I put it..."

"But these are not random cuts," Bella started again, "they do have a purpose, even though I admit it's a bit hard to explain."

"I doubt I'll ever understand, no matter how hard you try to explain," Narcissa nodded.

"Fine, but the point is, there's no reason for you to worry. The Dark Lord and I have it under control. Actually, it's the only way to have total control."

"I really don't want to know what you mean by that..." mumbled Narcissa.

"No, you don't," smiled Bellatrix, "but there's something that-" Bellatrix paused mid-sentence and smelt the air.

"What?"

But Bellatrix didn't answer, just sped towards the stove, her wand outstretched, showering it in silver sparks.

"Sweet Slytherin," Narcissa realised a minute too late that they had forgotten the stove burning while having their conversation.

Thick black smoke erupted from the fireplace, and Narcissa's wand was the one to absorb it. The sisters looked at each other for a second, and then started laughing hysterically, like when they were kids. They hadn't laughed like that in a very long time, years before Andromeda had left them. And they had not realised how much they needed it. They stood there, bent double with laughter, supporting themselves on the table and walls, trying to catch their breaths, and every time their eyes met, they fell back in fits. It was so liberating, real bliss.

"Oh, dear Slytherin," breathed Bellatrix, the first one to gain back some control. "That hurt, I'll give you that, sister, what did my poor abs do to you? Real shame though, I won't be poisoning the Dark lord tonight, am I?"

Both looked at the batter that was raw, and then back at the stove, where small puffs of smoke were still visible.

"Well, don't worry, there's always time," sniggered Narcissa, hardly managing to contain the new fit of laughter that was threatening to take over.

"Oh, come on, poor man, Dark Lords are supposed to be assassinated, not poisoned by some useless baker like my Ladyship. Not that I'm planning anything," she added quickly, checking the windows.

"That's okay, we'll find something to offer him for dinner, no worries," beamed Narcissa, and then added: "What do snakes eat again?"

* * *

Bellatrix walked towards the Dark Lord formally, a small, iron pan in her hands. Voldemort peeked inside and all he saw was yellow goo, semi-frozen and disgusting.

"I... have had far worse for dinner," he commented flatly.

"Right, so it's okay because you used to be starved as a boy and have eaten belts among other stuff?" asked Bellatrix, who had been hoping that the Dark lord would see the mistake of the day's assignment and would promise to keep her close to him for the rest of eternity.

"No belts," Voldemort said calmly, "leather polish makes them taste funny."

Bellatrix laughed nervously, not sure whether her Master was joking.

"You're not going to try it out, are you? Because I'm not ready to let you go."

"Hopefully, you'll never be able to do that," he said casually.

"That's true," she agreed, smiling broadly.

"I told you you would feel better after a day with your sister," he said triumphantly, and offered her one of his real -and very rare- smiles.

It was at that precious moment that Narcissa chose to enter the room, and she was left dumbstruck by the bizarre scene. She had never seen the Dark Lord express any kind of friendly emotion. But the moment he noticed her, his face wore back the usual, expressionless mask.

"My Lord- I apologize- I didn't- Bella-" she stammered, extending a hand towards her sister in a silent cry for help.

"Speak clearly, Lady Malfoy," Voldemort said coolly, but not in a particularly aggressive tone, "your sister and I need to be on our way soon."

"I am very sorry, my Lord, I only wanted to thank my sister for her visit. And I thought she may like a small something I was gifted a few days ago. By our mother," she added with meaning.

"Oh," exclaimed Bellatrix. Their mother, Druella Black, was not known for handing out gifts of appreciation to her eldest daughter. "Sure, what is it?"

"Umm, may I come in?" asked Narcissa uncomfortably.

"Yes," Lord Voldemort gave permission. For some reason, in those expressionless, scarlet eyes, a trained mind would distinguish a hint of worry, but Bellatrix, the only of the sisters with that potential ability, was too curious to notice.

Narcissa walked inside the room and twirled her wand. A small, silver cage appeared and she grabbed it gently in the air. Inside the cage, behind the thin bars, a tiny songbird stood on its swing, singing its freedom goodbye.

"Adorable, isn't she? Here, you can have her," smiled Narcissa.

But Bellatrix was staring at the trapped bird with horror written across her face that had not yet erased all the signs of her lengthy imprisonment.

"Bella?" Narcissa whispered, as Bellatrix started to tremble like a leaf in the wind. She hid her face in her palms, not able to say a single word. However, Voldemort seemed to have a lot to say.

"Are you really as stupid as you looked?" he hissed, his voice so threatening, that Narcissa took three steps back. "How could you possibly think this is a good idea? A _caged_ bird? In the name of Slytherin, I should ki-"

A sob escaped Bella's lips, and Voldemort stopped mid-threat. He shot Narcissa a last, murderous look, wrapped his arm around Bella gently, and Disapparated, leaving Narcissa alone in the small library, utterly confused by Bellatrix' reaction among other things.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._


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